A/N: "I been goin' thru it all, back all up against the wall..." #Wintertime #Badu

As always, enjoy x

Chapter 21: Message

Thursday 15th September 2016, 6.03am, Finley Motel, Waymart, Pennsylvania

The only motel in town had a hot plate, a mini-fridge, a leaky tap Joss didn't trust and a kettle and called it a kitchenette. No wonder, she ordered in Chinese food and watched 1 of the 4 channels that got decent reception on the TV. It was the first time she'd been alone in a while; with time to think about the man in prison who thought his brother skipped the country and was serving a sentence in his place. As he told it, Dylan knew Aaron wanted to go straight so when they couldn't reach him days after his disappearance he assumed he'd gone to Canada and beyond. Although it was procedural to consider everything she heard with suspicion, she was inclined to believe him; with two brothers already in the ground Dylan had little reason to lie. She didn't trust whatever water came through the shower so she boiled the kettle a few times and turned a basin into a makeshift bath, like she did when the pipes froze. Using a cup and exfoliating gloves, in her mind she could see the loft or basement apartment John would choose, seeing as he lived in a hole for such a long time. Knowing him, there was a tent waiting for them, somewhere off the grid. And then there was her son; who she thought wouldn't going to be happy about calling somewhere else home.

8.33am, Turner Hall, Emory University

Taylor's heart jumped when his phone started ringing, because early morning calls did that to him. Anticipating bad news, he wiped the sleep out his eyes and looked over at this roommate who was too passed-out to eavesdrop. "Hey."

"What've I done wrong, this time?" John asked, in that tone Reggie used when he already knew the answer but pretended he didn't.

Taylor was relieved. If John was calling there was chaos for sure but at least it wasn't tragic. He yawned. "I don't know. You didn't shoot another deer, did you?"

"No. What's wrong with the house thing? Finch said something."

Taylor chuckled. "I thought you didn't care what anyone thought."

"Help me out here."

"I guess you're doing what you always do; charging ahead without asking."

John couldn't argue, that was his M.O. after all. "Like a bull?"

"Pretty much. What does Ma want?"

"Time. I said I'd give her time."

"How much time?" John's silence spoke volumes. "Okay, five minutes then."

"Give me some credit." John knew deep down it had barely been two weeks since they parked that particular discussion.

Taylor knew John and Reggie were similar in that they responded to real-life situations rather than logical suggestions. "Did I ever tell you about the time someone broke into our house?"

"No, when was that?"

"A long time ago. They broke the living room window. There was yelling. It was crazy."

"What did Joss do?"

Taylor yawned again. "She pulled out two guns and went downstairs. And then she said; Paul, get out my house. I told you I don't want you here."

John had never heard that story. But its message was crystal clear. "So she needs more time."

"Yup."

"Okay. I'll drop it for now." Taylor thought he sounded sincere. John thought something was bubbling under the surface. "What's her name?"

Taylor was too groggy to lie. "Zahra."

John shook his head; moving on too fast was just as bad as not moving on at all. But he couldn't talk; not with the Ducati speed he went through life at. "And what's her story?"

"What story?"

"With you; there's always a story. You have a type."

It was nothing he hadn't heard before, not that he cared to listen. "She's cool; there's no story." Unless he mentioned the date rape drug he ingested that brought them together in the first place. "It's just waffles in Decatur."

"With a smart, pretty girl, no doubt?"

"Yep."

John saw that warning sign but it was Taylor's to recognise, not his. "Okay. Your mom's away."

"At court?"

"Just prison."

"Okay. Look out for Ma?"

"Always. And Zahra, was it?"

"Yeah, Zahra."

"When she tells you her story, 'cause there's always a story and she will tell you her story; think about what part you're gonna play in it."

"Later, Sensei."

"Later, Grasshopper."

3.18pm, Matero Apartment Complex, Roosevelt Island, East River, Manhattan, New York

Calista's hair got the worst of the rain, in her mad rush from college to Zoe's place. Senator Campbell's speech was such a success business was picking up with businessmen and local politicians alike wanting Zoe's new and improved type of image management. The matcha cupcakes were perfectly intact. "I booked the car." She announced, as Zoe ended her phone call in a much better mood that she'd been in months. "And made reservations for lunch."

Zoe nodded approvingly. "We're gonna be run off our feet 'til Christmas, Easter if we're lucky. I should be showing by then."

She raised her eyebrows, just last week her boss was practically sticking pins in a voodoo doll. "Showing? You're…?"

"Not yet." There was a gleam in Zoe's eye, the same gleam she got when an invoice cleared. "But I found the perfect guy. "Arjen Eisink, from the Netherlands. I'm 12% Dutch, you know."

Calista didn't know. She just thought the whole thing was some weird mid-life crisis, not that's she'd ever say. "Wow."

"And he'll be here tomorrow."

Calista didn't know what to make of Zoe's declaration. The words 'Sperm donor: will travel" came to mind. "Wow. So…what does that mean for me?"

Zoe handed over her beloved purple laptop. "It means I'm deputising for a few days."

"But what if I don't know what to do?"

Zoe smiled. "Can you figure it out for 40 bucks an hour?"

Friday 16th September 2016, 8.47pm, The Keigler Bar, Park Slope, Brooklyn

After Hazel gave him an ultimatum, – to spend more time with her after hours or else – Fusco's inability to make a promise he couldn't keep was the final nail in the coffin. It couldn't have come sooner for Shaw who already had her outfit ready; Ashtanga yoga kept her flexible and she knew just the place to take him – 2 blocks away from the low-key bar. It was the kind of place that drew a more mature crowd, the type that didn't like loud music more than conversation. The pale grey loose lop and the cloudy sky blue skin-tight yoga pants were enough to draw in men and women, especially because she hadn't showered and still had that damp glow.

"You really went all out?" Fusco envied her sneakers.

"It's called dedication. And I got an itch that needs scratching. By a banjo player." Shaw explained, eyeing the band members that arrived early. Their folky-bluegrass sound was grating but she wasn't there for music.

He snorted and snickered. "What would I do without your charm, Shaw?"

"Go home to one of those TV dinners and run out of lube watching amateur skin flicks online."

"You're a real lady."

"I try." She opened a beer bottle with her teeth. "So what did Animal crackers say when you gave her the boot?"

"That I have unhealthy working relationships and my work-life balance is off."

Shaw cocked her head to the side. "10 o'clock. New dye job, generally awkward, a little-pudgy; bingo: recently divorced. That's your gal. Breath check." Fusco popped 2 mint tic-tacs for good measure.

9.11pm, Finch's Townhouse, Carnegie Hill, New York

Another couple would've put their glad-rags on and gone out dancing, or had dinner and a movie; but Mr and Mrs John Harvey Nichols stood in Finch's HQ as The Machine dictated their plans for the evening. Finch had brewed some cinnamon tea for her arrival. "This is Mr and Mrs Devoe, Mr Devoe recently gambled away their life insurance policy and Mrs Devoe spent their daughter's college fund on a rather-impressive shoe collection. They have a mediation with their divorce attorneys tomorrow morning-"

"If they make it through the night." Joss chipped in, finding the wooden, aromatic scent under her nose very comforting.

"I'll play bad cop." John offered, flashing yet another badge that most likely belonged to her partner.

Joss resigned her weekend to the madness. "Ahh, what the hell."